


Covered by roses (with deadwood inside)

by TheonlyDan



Series: Crash and burn (so we never learn) [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Sharja, Within Temptation (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, My First Work in This Fandom, if your friendship isn't a little bit homoerotic then what's the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonlyDan/pseuds/TheonlyDan
Summary: “Yeah…I guess so.” She shifted, casually laying a hand on Tarja’s leg to reassure both of them that she wasn’t disapproving of their skin-to-skin contact. The younger woman wriggled her toes and maneuvered so she could shorten the distance between them.  “And do you like what you see, so far?”orA night when Sharon and Tarja got "drunk".
Relationships: Sharon den Adel/Tarja Turunen
Series: Crash and burn (so we never learn) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823182
Kudos: 7





	Covered by roses (with deadwood inside)

**Author's Note:**

> Gayness alert. A lot of gay.  
> This is what happens when preparing for the finals, and fangirling after female metal leads at the same time.  
> The title was taken from WT's song, Covered By Roses.

_Hellfest, 2016, Hydra World Tour_

Sharon was not amused.

Robert started to “not talk” to her, yet again. It happened a lot recently. She couldn’t say she was used to the silent treatments, nor could she admit maybe taking a break was exactly what they needed.

Not that they hadn’t done it before.

Undressing almost angrily, Sharon stripped down to her undergarments and went into the hotel’s bathroom.

She glared at the strange brunet in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged, doing a poor job at covering the harsh lines on her face. She was about to turn 42 in less than a month.

Though Sharon was a professional, 11 songs still took a toll on her physique. She didn’t know she was more tired because of the performances or the lack of emotional support. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to finish the tour; she desperately wanted to believe that if she’d done it before she could do it again.

She tied her hair up into a quick ponytail. Starting with her eyes, Sharon grabbed the makeup-remover and cotton pads. She went on autopilot with her makeup-removal routine. It was half-past nine last she checked, and she was seriously considering to go to bed early. Perhaps after talking with the kids.

“Sharon?”

The voice was muffled against the door but distinctive. With a few more knocks that were now unmistakable as the Dutch listened closely, her heart sank and soared at the same time. It was coming from a certain a Finnish woman whom Sharon had strange— _good_ feelings for.

“Tarja!” Sharon hurriedly splashed some water on her face and got rid of the foam and the last traces of foundation. _Where is the fucking towel?_ “Is that you?”

“Yes! What are you doing? I was knocking like a crazy person, and the staff was giving me weird looks!”

Sharon grinned uncontrollably as she sprinted, grabbing a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The younger woman surely hadn’t used up her energy yet. Sharon had the urge to crack a joke about Tarja using her classical-singing techniques to always sound a little bit too loud, but she focused on her current task instead, giving up the jeans (she found it was stained with unidentified sauce. _Yuck_.) and went for fresh pair of shorts.

“Sharon? Where are—”

“Hi.”

The raven-haired woman blinked as the door swung open. Though tired as hell, Sharon could hardly repress a smile at the sight of Tarja. She always cheered her up with her boundless energy and open personality. At first, she was a bit unnerved with some of Tarja's quirky traits. She thought the Finnish singer would act more…serene or poised, not like a child, because after they had their first Skype meeting Sharon was _shocked_. A few minutes into their conversation, Tarja had grinned, smirked, smiled until her eyes crescent into half-moon shapes, and laughed so loud that Sharon had to erase her doubts to laugh along.

Sharon ended up liking all of Tarja’s characteristics. She decided they made the Finnish woman cuter.

_Captivating. Warm. Lovable._

Tarja hadn’t taken her face off yet. She must have been chatting with Sharon’s band members down at the lobby; it was one of Tarja’s magical abilities—whenever she went, she would be able to be at ease, comfortable enough to make herself accessible.

But she didn’t look too comfortable now. Her smile was wide and genuine but her stance was frigid. There was concern in her emerald greens and she was fidgety. Sharon had gotten good at observing people. For a long time, she had paid close attention to Tarja, trying to determine whether she should be closer to the younger woman. It turned out they were both problem-solvers, and Tarja was never the power-hungry, money-craving diva Sharon had imagined (the media was also guilty for painting that image). Tarja was ambitious of course, but never condescending or pushy. What Sharon liked the most about Tarja, was her empathetic nature and thoughtfulness; what she admired about her was that Tarja always lived every instant to the fullest.

Maybe it was because Tarja had a gig here as well tomorrow. Normally, off-camera and off-stage, Tarja seldom radiated nervous energy that brought negative effects upon people.

“I was actually having thoughts about a nightcap. But aren’t you going onstage tomorrow…?”

“I was thinking about the same thing! I’m sure a little alcohol wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, _mi casa es su casa_.”

With her broken Spanish, Sharon gave a casual wave, gesturing the interior of her room to welcome Tarja in. The other woman smirked but didn’t comment.

As Sharon rummaged through the minibar, crouching in the most elegant way she could manage, Tarja crash-landed on the couch and kicked off her heels (Sharon should know, judging by the relieved sigh Tarja gave after something dense made contact with the carpet).

“Hmmm…there’s a word in English for this but I can’t remember…”

Sharon turned around. With her nose scrunched up in concentration, Tarja had perched herself in the loveseat, rubbing her own feet, and was looking in a general direction at her baggage. Sharon was aware they were in the same space alone, and that realization sent a jolt to her heart. An untimely blush crept onto Sharon’s cheeks and she was glad that Tarja wasn’t looking at her. She was also confused about feeling guilty, like she was somehow invading the other woman’s privacy.

“Pigsty?”

“Cozy?”

They said in unison after their gazes met, and they burst into laughter. It was so unexpected that Sharon ended up giggling on the floor.

“How on earth…I wouldn’t _dare_ to suggest that Sharon den Adel’s room was a mess!”

“Why? Because I am such a ‘diva’ singer?”

Sharon did a dramatic air-quotation with her hands, and it made Tarja throw her head back with another fit of laughter. It was an inside-joke.

“Yes. I was actually so scared of you, remember?”

“Yeah. Those were some good-ol’-days.”

Smiling with a pang of nostalgia, Sharon sighed. After she got the things she wanted, she stood a little too swiftly. Massaging her own back while collecting balance, Sharon suddenly wanted to say how beautiful the other woman looked; Tarja’s cheeks were flushed after laughing, and her eyes were shining lively with sparkles that cleared up the gloom in the atmosphere. The insufficient yellow light had cast a smooth and mysterious halo on Tarja’s tiny figure, making her look younger yet more mature; her cheekbones were more prominent when her face was silhouetted with shadow. Maybe Tarja was never the person Sharon thought she knew. Maybe Tarja was here to show her how wrong she had been.

But all of that was just some ludicrous passing thoughts.

“I know you hate beer, but this is the best I can find.”

With an apologetic grimace, Sharon handed the Heineken to the sitting woman. Tarja took the bottle gratefully with a gleeful, mischievous smile. Their fingers brushed for a nanosecond, and Sharon wondered when she had started to calculate the human touches she got; it was not the best time to summon the image about the last time she had sex with her husband. Sharon cringed at the unwanted memory and buried it to the bottom of her thoughts.

Barefoot, Sharon landed on the mini-couch with a delighted huff. Her back was aching all day. Tarja watched with amusement and tilted her drink towards the taller woman.

“At least this is from where you are from. I hold high respect for your country.”

“Aw, are you trying to say you are going to love beer more, because of me?”

Sharon didn’t know what she was doing, only that it felt good because she could let her accent slip a little, and throw her worries away tonight. At the corner of her mind, she knew she wasn’t supposed to look at her friend like this. Not with a lazy and lopsided smile that was going to be read as some kind of _invitation_.

“Maybe just Heineken. I wouldn’t go too far.”

Tarja didn’t seem to be picking up the wrong signals. She shrugged in a wry smile like she was spoiling a child, when in fact she was indulging a grown-ass woman because she was too fond of Sharon. The grin on Sharon’s face widened, then turned into exasperation as she started to struggle with the opener. She was never good at prying open anything.

Tarja slapped her hands playfully and snatched away the opener. Sharon submissively surrendered the bottle to the younger woman. _Their fingers touched brusquely again. Damn it. Just stop thinking._

With a “pop” and then another, Tarja used the kit to open the bottles like it was the most natural thing to do. Their beverage hissed violently then turned into mellow fizzes. Sharon wished she didn’t notice another contact she received after she got the beer back. She hoped the shiver that ran up her spine was due to the ice-cold bottle, not that she was reading too much in their interactions.

“You are the best. Cheers.”

“ _Kippis_.”

***

There were three things Sharon registered. One, only under extremely rare circumstances, could two bottles of Heineken make people drunk. Two, it had to be way past midnight but neither of them wanted to care. Three, echoing point one—so were the both of them faking the state of inebriation?

“…so after that night I thought I was gay, and so does everybody else. But it turned out I am not. Since that guy was too horrible in bed, he was afraid that I would tell everyone how bad he was, so he spread the rumor first that I was into girls.”

Mouth agape, Sharon stared at Tarja, now smirking rather smugly. Facing Sharon, Tarja’s back was against the arm of the couch, and she was reclining sideways with leisure. She had placed her feet across Sharon’s lap, claiming that the heat coming off of her body was very comforting to her aching feet.

Sharon let her. She liked the weight of Tarja legs on her lap, and she couldn’t possibly give up the chances to tickle the Finnish singer.

“What a douchebag! God…how revolting. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Nah, it was no big deal. I had some girl-girl experiences thanks to him.”

“You WHAT?”

Tarja chuckled devilishly, somewhat shy and satisfied. Blood was pounding in Sharon’s ears. She felt uncomfortably warm but she knew it wasn’t just because of the beer.

“Well it was not that many. I am not slutty. I had a pretty serious relationship with a girl once and that was it.”

A headache started to build itself steadily behind the sockets of Sharon’s eyes. She let her hair down, knowing that Tarja was staring at her. A part of her hoped the raven-haired woman could interpret more from her movement. That was who Sharon was—a coward, too selfish to do anything to relieve the thickening tension.

“I think this is the first time I see you without any makeup.”

Unpredictability. That was what she also liked about Tarja. Sharon narrowed her eyes at Tarja and nodded faintly to agree. She liked the way Tarja was looking at her now though her lashes and heavy-lidded eyes—like Tarja really _saw_ her as the only one in her universe.

“Yeah…I guess so.” She shifted, casually laying a hand on Tarja’s leg to reassure both of them that she wasn’t disapproving of their skin-to-skin contact. The younger woman wriggled her toes and maneuvered so she could shorten the distance between them. “And do you like what you see, so far?”

As soon as those words slipped out of her mouth, Sharon’s mind went blank. It was wrong. She shouldn’t flirt with her friend on a whim, or just for some fucking amusement because Tarja just said she had dipped in the lady pond before. Under no circumstances should Sharon be taking advantage of her friend, especially after Tarja just opened up to her.

“C’mon. You know you are one of my favorite persons in the world.”

There was a gulp that didn’t escape from Sharon’s eyes. She definitely went too far. Tarja was quick to forgive as she fake-punched her shoulder, a goofy smile on her face as if she was one of the frat boys. The meanings behind the gesture were too grave that Tarja’s neutral façade eventually faltered.

Sharon looked away. She was climbing out her own vortex of self-hatred now, but the more she tried the lower she fell. Maybe that was why things went to shit again with Robert. Maybe it was because who she was—a selfish-fuck who liked manipulation, didn’t have enough respect to boundaries, and too passive to take any action.

“You need to loosen up a bit.” She thought she misheard something, but as she locked gaze with Tarja, she found the same pair of green eyes staring back, unwavering but soft. “You are pushing yourself too far and you don’t spare yourself with enough goodness. Sometimes you can chase other things first, and it wouldn’t stop you from getting what you want the most, you know what I am saying?” Tarja rushed the words out in heavy stresses; she was trying her best to communicate her ideas through a language that wasn’t her native. Guilt, appreciation and too many unnamed emotions rushed into Sharon’s heart. She was overwhelmed but she understood what Tarja was trying to convey. They were too alike that sometimes Sharon even got a little impatient hearing Tarja talk, since she knew what the younger woman was about to say. They were those who appear in one another’s lives at the right place and time, but just the wrong kind of expectations.

“Oh no. Don’t cry!” Tarja leaped off the couch, looked frantically around the room, and grabbed the nearest tissue box she could find. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Tarja sat carefully next to Sharon while she blew her nose, and it was louder than anticipated. They gave a few chuckles to water down the suffocating air but the tears just wouldn’t stop.

“Oh fuck. I am turning into a faucet.”

Sharon managed a joke as she sniffled, trying to stop analyzing the level of her own pathetic-ness. Tarja cooed with warm nothingness, and threw an arm onto Sharon’s shoulder. She tried to envelop Sharon’s form into her smaller frame.

That was what Tarja did all the time. She never stopped trying for the impossible. She never stopped giving back positivity to the world.

Tarja was kind and funny. Sharon could be funny too when she wasn’t tired, but she was not kind anymore; she was guarded. Faithless.

Sharon hid herself further in her embrace. Tarja felt warm and slightly tremulous, like her skin was vibrating with the excessive energy she had yet to run out of. It was comforting and Sharon felt safe with Tarja’s scent enveloping her—clean soap, breezy rose and jasmine, something citrusy and fresh—that altogether lulled her into a soothing trance. Crying took more energy than she thought.

“It is late, sweet, let me take you to bed, ok?”

With a jumbled mind reverberating incoherent, hurtful comments, Sharon nodded to the deep, hypotonic female voice so the ones in her head would go away.

And they did. Tarja detangled slowly from Sharon and helped her stood up; with a supportive hand at Sharon’s lower back, Tarja guided her towards the bed. Sluggish, Sharon yawned, eliciting an inaudible chuckle from the shorter woman.

“You are so tiny.” Sharon collapsed at the bed. Tarja raised her brows and put her hands on her waist, feigning anger albeit expression gentle, “Don’t take it the wrong way. It was a compliment.”

“Compliment me how?”

“It is a way of saying you are cute.”

Her Dutch accent was fully transparent now. Sharon situated herself comfortably by adjusting the pillow while Tarja helped with the covers. A small, almost melancholic smile ghosted its way onto Tatja’s face as she sat by the edge of the mattress. She stared down at the beautiful brunet.

Sharon looked angelic and fragile when she was all tugged in and barefaced. She was exhausted; Tarja could see the tiny lines on the outer corner of Sharon’s full pink lips, and the creases had become evident around her eyes. Her chocolate-browns were unfathomable, speaking a language that everyone thought they were capable of interpreting. No one really could.

Sharon had enigmatic qualities that drew people in before they knew they needed to resist. Tarja was perhaps too late to reckon, that getting too close to a charming narcissist would ultimately harm herself.

Maybe in another life. This was what they have although it was nowhere near perfection; Tarja knew they needed each other, but they were seeking the wrong kind of shelters.

Sharon blinked and rubbed her eyes. The sight of her struggling to stay awake was adorable.

“Tari?”

“Yes?”

“What’s wrong when you came to find me tonight? I thought you were worried about something…”

Raspy and melodic, Sharon’s voice was slurring a bit; it triggered explosions of mental bombs as they reached Tarja’s ears. She went speechless as if her heart was flatlining. Tarja almost forgot that all of this was her doing. She shouldn’t have come here in the first place just because her husband was busy on the other side of the globe. She desperately needed comfort and hope from her loved ones, but at ungodly times like hours before now, Tarja was always afraid to ask for help. She felt alone and fragile, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Sharon would understand.

And Sharon did. But what was offered was too sweet a poison to be swallowed, and too heavy a burden to take on.

It was her performance tomorrow that propelled her to see Sharon. Tarja had to believe that now.

“I was nervous about tomorrow, that’s all. Don’t worry about me. Go to sleep.”

“Are you leaving?”

Sharon asked, doe-eyed and innocent as she grasped onto Tarja’s forearm. Her hand was cold.

_Please don’t go._

Tarja’s throat tightened. She had to make the right decision when Sharon was too weary to take the wheel. Tarja had to be stronger for both of them.

“No. I’m not.”

And she honored her lie. Sharon let out a satisfied sigh when Tarja made a bold move to lay down beside her. The bed was lumpy and too soft to Tarja’s liking, but the person—the _little spoon_ , actually—made it all up. Tugging her chin in the corner of Sharon’s shoulder, Tarja buried her nose in Sharon’s hair while gently wrapping a hand around Sharon’s waist. Sharon shifted to curl herself up. Tarja didn’t know she wanted to howl in ecstasy or cry in pain when Sharon found the hand on her waist, and intertwined their fingers. Tarja inhaled, keeping in mind this was how Sharon smelled like. Even if she knew this memory was going to make her sad, Tarja still tried hard to memorize the sandalwood and sweet floral scent. She stayed, letting her senses explore and remember how their bodies quivered, how they breathed in sync, and the way everything felt so ridiculously domestic and _right_.

Tarja listened until Sharon’s breathing evened out. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. Tarja slid out of bed as careful as possible, making sure the movement of the mattress wouldn’t rat her departure out.

She tiptoed towards her high heels and picked them up from the furry carpet. She felt like an insect stuck in frozen amber; the moment of departure seemed to expand in eternity.

Before she was three steps away from the door, Tarja glanced back. From a distance, it was a peaceful visage. Sharon’s face was hidden from her sight because a curtain of her brown, curly hair had blocked her features. Tarja chewed the inside of her cheek. After a beat or two, she conceded to her urge.

The distance between herself and the sleeping beauty seemed like a boundless ocean. Heels dangling in one hand, Tarja finally made her way by Sharon’s side after trekking through what felt like a hundred miles. Tarja realized she was somehow out of breath, and she willed her own heartbeat to slow back to normal. Then she reached out a hand (she noticed she was shaking), collected the locks of the coffee-colored hair from Sharon’s face, and brushed them towards the nape of her delicate, unblemished neck. She unintentionally grazed her fingers along the tender skin, and she retracted her hand as if she was burnt. The tips of her finger now tingled with the residual feeling of the touch. Tarja knew she was permitting herself to feel this way, because something like this wouldn’t be happening again.

Her heart jumped to her throat when Sharon shifted, and murmured something nonsensical. In Dutch, perhaps.

So Tarja whispered, inaudible and unsteady, with some Finnish in return.

_Olet rakas. Nuku hyvin._

***

Outside, the floor was splattered golden. The daylight was seeping from the heavy draperies at the end of the hallway, declaring the arrival of dawn. The Finnish singer stood in the sea of sunshine, dazed as she bathed in the majestic light. It made her forget the fresh line of tear that was running down her cheek. It made her forget the misery she wasn’t entitled to nor responsible for. It made her remember why she was here, what she was doing, and what she had to do.

It gave her the strength to walk away.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and suggestions are welcomed~  
> Also, I'm not sure if I'm done with Sharja yet...maybe I would write more in the future. There are still a lot of chaotic tropes and inner turmoils that were left out in this work.  
> Tell me what you think! Thanks for reading


End file.
